What A State I'm In
by Captain Morrigan Savvy
Summary: Harry has a moment that lasts a little too long, and Hermione is there to help him pull himself back together.


Disclaimer: I don't know why anyone bothers with these things anymore...

A/N: Hello there. Yes, this is my first Harry Potter fic. I don't know why I did it, I guess I just hadn't written anything in a while and was in a very Harry Potter-ish mood. It worked better for this idea anyway, and I really needed to write SOMETHING, because I've been in a really bad mood lately, due to the fact that a certain person has been visiting from Oregon for far too long and will not be leaving soon enough. It's a very long story that I won't get into here, but let's just say that it involves someone having feelings for someone else who DEFINITELY does not return them, and the someone who is having the feelings is not me. Okay, I'm shutting up now.

On with the story, hope you enjoy...

* * *

Harry removed his glasses and leaned wearily against the back of the couch, heaving a sigh as he allowed his unusually wet eyes to slip closed. Why had he done this to himself? Why had he put himself in this situation? It was nearly three A.M., and he was alone in the common room, trying desperately to complete an essay. For Professor Snape. Due tomorrow. Why had he procrastinated _again_?

He had been at it for hours. Needless to say, it had been much more difficult than he had anticipated. He was so tired, words had begun to blur together in the pages of his textbook, he couldn't seem to form coherent sentences on his parchment, and no matter what he did his hand simply refused to print the letters clearly. He was so aggravated, so irritated, so utterly disgusted and frustrated by his situation. He just needed a moment, just one moment, to throw nobility and selflessness to the wind and wallow in his own self-pity.

So he cried. He cried for his incurable habit of procrastination, for his unfinished essay, for everything else that was wrong – and some things that were right – in his life. He cried for his parents, and for Sirius. He cried for all the pressure that was always piled on his shoulders, for the fact that he had been chosen as the one to kill Voldemort or die at the Dark Lord's hands. He cried for Ron and Hermione, the way he was slowly pulling further and further away from them. He cried for the innocence they had all possessed just years earlier that they could never have again. He cried for the Weasleys, the best people he knew who never got even a fraction of the things they deserved. He cried for the Dursleys and their ignorance. He cried for Moaning Myrtle and her miserable life that had ended in a sudden and early death. He cried for Percy, who had forfeited his family to pursue his professional ambitions. He cried for Cedric Diggory. He cried for Hagrid and his sensitive nature, something the world didn't see enough of anymore. He cried for the Wizarding community, how they now lived in constant fear, and for the Muggles, how they didn't even realize the danger they were in. He cried for Draco Malfoy and his misguided ways. He cried for Tom Riddle, who had felt so lost and unloved that the only happiness he could find was in hurting others. He didn't even know what he cried for. He just cried. Maybe he cried to make sure he still could.

But now the moment was over, and he still felt bad, and he didn't want to. He had confirmed the fact that he could still cry, but now he couldn't stop. He had only wanted a moment! He felt hot all over, but somehow cold and _achy_ on the inside, and he just wanted it to stop. _Just make it all stop!_ And all because of this stupid essay….

He opened his eyes and sat up slightly at the sound of soft footsteps on the carpet. Someone was approaching, and he didn't need his glasses to see who it was. Even his nearsighted eyes could recognize that hair from a hundred feet away.

Hermione sat down beside Harry, tucking one leg underneath her and letting the other hang off the edge of the couch. She didn't say anything, just looked at him. He thought he would be embarrassed for her to find him like this, crying like a child over _homework_, but, strangely, he wasn't. He actually felt better in her company, and he somehow felt that if there was anyone who could understand what he was experiencing just then, it would be her.

After a few more long moments of silence, Hermione carefully, almost timidly, scooted a bit closer and raised her hands to Harry's cheeks, brushing away his tears ever so gently with a sad sort of questioning look on her face. Her fingers were soft and smooth on his skin, her eyes so captivating and concerned as she held his gaze. They spoke the words she seemed reluctant to break the silence with.

_Please tell me, Harry. I want to make it better._

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against her shoulder, hiding his face and pressing his teary eyes into her neck. She didn't hold him, but reached around his back and soothingly massaged his neck and shoulders, moving slowly down his arms and then back up to where she started, easing his tense muscles as she went. Relaxation seeped into him with her touch, and he felt himself sagging more and more against her as his tears dripped quietly onto her shirt.

When it was clear to Hermione that her imploring looks were not going to be enough to make Harry divulge whatever was bothering him, she spoke the question, soft and low, her voice as smooth as honey.

"What's wrong?"

He lifted his head slowly and faced her, reluctant to leave the comfort of her embrace, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he uttered one simple word.

"Everything."

She didn't ask him to explain further, as he thought she would have done. Her chocolate eyes assessed him, searching his face, his eyes, for a more detailed explanation. He loved it when she wore that look. It was her way of reading people. It was like the way she read books, only with people she could gain knowledge that could not be obtained through words. The only thing he loved more than seeing that face was seeing the one she adopted when she found what she was looking for. Her eyes would soften into a smile, her lips curving up slightly at the edges, and when this expression came over her after a few long moments of her quiet consideration of him, he knew she understood.

Before he knew what he was doing or why, he was kissing her. She had just looked so angelic, sitting there before him with her golden curls framing her soft face perfectly, that kind, accepting smile in her eyes and her pink lips parted slightly. Maybe it was just the thrill of having someone actually _understand_ him, and his gratitude to her for being the one to do so, but one second he was looking at her and the next his lips were on hers. It was a slow, gentle thing, but filled with passion, the salty taste of his lingering tears in both their mouths.

Harry came away from it feeling stupider than ever. He had just ruined a perfectly beautiful moment by _kissing_ his best friend. Could he _be_ more of an idiot? And not only that, he had actually _enjoyed_ it. She had come down to the common room at this ungodly hour just to help him, she had soothed him more effectively than anyone ever had in his life, and he thanked her by creating an atmosphere so awkward that he couldn't even look at her. _Well done, Harry. Absolutely brilliant…_

But then her fingers were at his chin, gently tilting his face to meet her gaze. One look at her and his insecurity melted away, for she still wore her smile. She still understood. She understood everything.

Her eyes drifted over to the table upon which sat Harry's hopeless essay. She picked it up and skimmed over his writing, her eyebrows lifting amusedly at his rather impressive lack of penmanship towards the end. She breathed a small sigh after seeing the impossibly long way he still had to go. A lecturing sort of sigh but a loving sigh as well, for he was so lovable in this particular fault.

_Oh, Harry, will you never learn?_

She looked up at him, her smile still intact.

"Can I help?"

Harry rested his head on her shoulder as they looked on at textbook and parchment together. The warm vanilla scent of her hair filling his nose and her smooth voice filling his ears were the last things he remembered before falling into a peaceful, if brief, sleep.

* * *

Harry turned his essay in to Professor Snape the next morning, completed and meeting the required length. He couldn't remember exactly how he had finished it, but was just grateful that it was done and he wouldn't be made to suffer one of Snape's detentions. 

Hermione would never tell him that she had finished it for him after he fell asleep on her shoulder, disguising her handwriting to look like his. She would never tell him that she had adored kissing him like that, and she would never tell him that she had never felt so content – so _right_ – with anyone than she had felt touching him the way she did last night. She would never tell him because somehow, she thought, he already knew.

-The End-

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A/N: Fun fact: that story actually happened to me, with a few minor changes of course. In real life he didn't kiss me, it wasn't homework that he was crying about, our names are not Harry and Hermione, and we do not attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Itwas just such a cheesy movie moment, I felt it had to be turned into a story.Anyway, please review and I promise I will love you forever. 


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